


pocketful of starlight

by weatheredlaw



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Falling In Love, Inspired by Stardust, Mild Language, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-09 21:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Aziraphale, a star recently knocked from his place in the sky, just wants to know why he's here. Crowley, a warlock who isn't terribly interested in living forever, just wants to be left alone.The universe has other plans.





	1. some not-so starless night

**Author's Note:**

> the stardust-ish au you always wanted. not a perfect translation, don't get mad at me.

On the evening of April seventeenth, three sets of eyes were turned toward the heavens, watching as a solitary star plummeted to the earth.

One set of eyes belonged to a boy called Adam. He would, someday, be a very important man, but for now he remained a scruffy haired troublemaker from the village of Tadfield. Adam possessed a handful of things that mattered a great deal to a boy of eleven, and he guarded them with his life: his dog, Dog, who was very well trained (mostly) and knew a great number of tricks; his friends, who trailed along after him and played all the games they could imagine with him; and a very sturdy, reliable walking stick.

The stick, of course, would become _more_ important later. For now, it was just a stick Adam had found three months ago, decorated on his own, and it had become his absolute favorite thing. It needed to be protected.

Adam woke on the morning of April eighteenth and told his mother he’d seen a falling star. She, a well-kempt woman who ran the bakery in Tadfield with her husband, was currently making breakfast for her family, and said as cheerfully as she could manage, “Hope you made a wish, love. S’all a fallen star is good for.”

“Couldn’t we go to it?” Adam wondered.

His mother paused. “Go looking for the star?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him. “No, love. That’s probably an awful long ways away. And besides, all you’d find when you got there was a hunk of rock.”

Adam said nothing, because he knew this wasn’t necessarily true, but didn’t feel like arguing. His mother was plain spoken and pragmatic. She didn’t want to hear about the things he’d been reading when she and his father had gone to bed. He’d found a very good book tucked away in the library just the other day, right before he’d been run out. He couldn’t blame them for doing that, considering he’d only been in the library once before in his life, and that was the release several frogs inside the building in the middle of the afternoon.

 _Stars_ , the book said _, come in quite a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and personalities. You can never be sure, upon finding a fallen one, what kind you will get._

That, Adam thought, was _very_ interesting.

* * *

The other two sets of eyes belonged to a witch and a warlock, respectively. Anathema Device was getting ready, finally, to go to bed, after watching the skies for said fallen star with little success. She’d had several false alarms, until, just a moment after blowing out her candle, she looked out her open window, and suddenly — a streak! That familiar flash of light! Anathema bolted from bed and nearly flung herself out her window, marking the star’s descent.

 _Perfect_ , she thought. Stardust was precisely what she needed. And a falling star would have _more_ than enough of it, she assumed. Anathema knew no reason _why_ a star wouldn’t share its stardust. She’d met a handful as a young girl and they’d all been quite willing to part with it — so long as Anathema’s mother hadn’t taken their hearts. This was something Anathema _did not_ understand. The need, first off, to live forever. And the need, second, to remove the heart of a star in order to accomplish the first. Anathema didn’t want to live forever. The world was wide and varied, and she intended to have at least one child. That, her mother told her, was how a line lived on.

No. Anathema had no intention of cutting out the heart of this star. She needed stardust for her divination magic. Just a handful would last herself and her descendents quite some time.

(Mistakes had been made, in her last divination ritual. To admit, outloud, she’d squandered the majority of the stardust procured by her mother was shameful. So — she didn’t.)

However, some miles away, in a medium size stone house that was Too Large for the man currently leaning over the edge of his balcony, in _shock_ that the advice from Hastur had been correct, was a very tired, very unmotivated warlock who _also_ did not want to live forever. Not, at least, like this.

Crowley had been around for quite some time, and he had accomplished this task using a variety of spells, deals, and magical trades. None of which involved eating the heart of a star. Eating the heart of a star, Crowley had learned, was a quick way to longevity that resulted in a...listless existence. Hastur and Ligur may have been content to crack open the ribs of some (mostly) innocent creature that had tumbled from the heavens, but Crowley was not. He didn’t consider himself very Nice or particularly Kind in any manner of speaking, but he did, at the very least, consider himself Somewhat, But Not Especially Decent.

He did not, for example, murder any children. The idea was rather appalling.

He also did not participate in many blood sacrifices. While he preferred dark clothing, that didn’t mean blood couldn’t _stain_. And besides, it took _weeks_ to get out from under his nails.

Crowley was the kind of warlock one might call a _demon._ He had obtained power through the usual unsavory channels — make a bad deal, pay an ugly debt, say some nasty words — blah, blah blah, but he wasn’t interested in leaning into the evil the way some did. Crowley preferred to seed discord gently. A rumor planted here, an apple snatched there.

All in all, really, he wanted to be Left Alone, and the last handful of decades had been very nice, as far as solitude went.

And then, one day, Hastur sent along a message. It was his turn, apparently, to keep an eye on the sky. Catch a falling star, you know.

Put it in your pocket.

Cut its heart out on a stone slab, split it three ways, consume it, live a little longer.

Crowley scowled. Made a few notes in his book. Kicked over his telescope.

He didn’t like Hastur. Hastur _smelled._

* * *

And then, of course, there was the star itself. Or...himself, perhaps. He stood — or at least, tried to stand, and dusted himself off. All he managed to do was tumble back into a tree with a groan and slump back to the ground.

He’d broken his leg, it seemed. Or at least sprained it, when he fell.

And speaking _of_ falling, the star, who was called Aziraphale by the other stars, wasn’t really sure _why_ he’d taken a nosedive. Gabriel had been threatening him with it, for some time. Aziraphale didn’t ask questions so much as he _wondered._ He found life on earth very curious, and often wondered what _pears_ tasted like.

They looked very good.

“If you want to know so bad, then go down and see.”

 _No_ , he’d thought. _That’s a very Bad Idea._ All stars knew what manner of creatures lurked down there. Creatures unwilling to accept that all lives, no matter how long you might beg and bargain to extend them — eventually had to end.

The _cost_ of extending them was too steep for one star to pay.

But _something_ had knocked him out of the sky, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t another star. Perhaps it was prophecy, but Aziraphale had stopped taking stock in that ages ago. The idea of the future being “written in the stars” was a delightfully sweet concept, but taken too far it could mean Bad News for stars themselves. No, he’d decided. Prophecy was dangerous, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it in the literal sense.

And so, if it wasn’t prophecy, and it wasn’t magic — he’d have felt it, he was certain, if it were magic — then what, exactly, was it?

That is what he was considering as he leaned heavily against the tree, trying to catch his breath, careful not to twist his leg.

 _Perhaps it is just fate_ , he thought. Perhaps some stars are _meant_ to fall.

Perhaps the answer would arrive, and help him to his feet, and _not_ desire his heart.

 _That_ would be most ideal.

* * *

Crowley couldn’t believe his bad luck. When, in their entire wretched lives, had Hastur and Ligur been right about _stars?_ The two of them couldn’t divine for shit, and here they were, sending him messages in the middle of dinner, babbling on about _fallen stars_ this and _slicing out their hearts_ that.

“Messy business, living forever,” he muttered, and started packing his things. The way Crowley saw it, he could do two things:

One, he could leave the star to fend for itself. It was doubtful he was the only one who saw it, and less doubtful still he was the only one who saw it and would be tasked with cutting out its heart. If he just stayed home, someone would eventually find the star, and probably destroy it. Work done, Crowley got to stay home, and he didn’t get his hands bloody. He really wasn’t a fan.

Two, he could go get the star, make sure it didn’t get its heart cut out, and get it somewhere safe. There were a handful of people and places the star could go to. Crowley’s own home was safe (enough) for starters. And there were other witches who weren’t interested in star hearts who might want to take it in. Though of that, Crowley could never be certain. There were plenty of witches, and warlocks, he knew who would say One Thing, but upon meeting a star, would Do Another.

Living forever proved too tempting, for some.

Crowley didn’t want to live forever. He wanted to live peacefully. And if he didn’t go after the star, then he’d never be able to. And that was that.

* * *

In a little village in Tadfield, Adam Young packed a bag with every intention of going after the star.

He didn’t make it past the front gate before his father caught him, pulled him back into the house, and gave him a lengthy talking to regarding leaving his mother behind without a word, packing a bag with nothing to clean himself with, and fallen stars.

“They are _not_ people,” his father said.

Adam nodded. Dog whined at him.

Unfortunate, really, that only the two of them knew the truth.

* * *

Anathema wasn’t sure where to go, and she’d lost her last Babylon candle.

Crowley had a vague sense of where to go, and only half a Babylon candle left.

It would simply have to do.

* * *

The warlocks, but ostensibly _demons_ , Hastur and Ligur did not trust Crowley. They hardly trusted one another, but of all the people they’d met in the world, they mistrusted one another the least, which was really saying something — so they stuck together.

“He’ll mess it up,” Ligur said, to which Hastur agreed. Crowley was several things — powerful, certainly, as well as quite clever. But he was often too clever for his own good, and got himself into trouble. At least, in Hastur’s opinion.

Ligur just thought Crowley was an ass.

“We could go after it ourselves,” Ligur said, for the tenth time that day. Hastur ignored him, but less so than before. Neither particularly had the energy or motivation to go star hunting, but sending Crowley, someone they knew wasn’t especially invested in the sport, seemed a bad idea, now that Hastur thought on it.

“Could, I guess,” he said. Still didn’t _want_ to.

“He’ll mess it up and we’ll be a star short and you know it.”

“Crowley won’t do the cutting himself,” Hastur said. “Doesn’t mean he won’t bring it to us.”

“Do you trust him?”

“No,” Hastur said, without hesitation.

Ligur decided to stop talking, to let the point he was making sink in.

A few hours later, with no Babylon candle to speak of, they were on the road. And while they were trailing behind him already, it was unlikely they wouldn’t meet up with Crowley and the star eventually.

 _That_ is what they were banking on.

* * *

Crowley wanted to get closer, before he started burning up precious Babylon candles. It was a delicate balance — knowing how far to go that wouldn’t put too much time between now and when the star had fallen, and what would leave him with enough of a candle to get somewhere safe.

He had a small cart and horse, but he needed them for future endeavors, and traveling with too much luggage taxed the candle to a degree he wasn’t comfortable with. So he walked. Crowley liked walking because horses were not really his thing. He had one, but had never named it. She was a black filly, just three years old, and had been a gift. Crowley liked neither horses nor gifts, but it was rude to refuse both, so he took it, and used her only when necessary.

As much as he couldn’t stand the creature, she seemingly adored him, which made his intense dislike of her extremely difficult to maintain. Some time apart would be good for them. Perhaps in the days to come, she’d start to resent him, and they’d eventually be on even footing.

“ _How many miles to Babylon?_ ” he sang under his breath. “ _Three score miles and ten? Can I get there by candlelight? Yes, there and back again…_ ” He hoisted his bag higher over his shoulder, and continued on.

* * *

The star, meanwhile, was not happy. Aziraphale had not received any response from Gabriel and the others about _why_ he was here, other than the fact that he’d have to get used to it. Make the most of it. Perhaps avoid having his heart cut out.

“Well, _yes_ ,” he said to himself. “Of course I was going to do _that._ ” As if he’d go marching into any random witch or demon’s house and present his bare chest to them. “I’m not _stupid_ ,” he muttered.

The silence of the sky above indicated they thought otherwise.

Aziraphale tried walking, but found himself rather useless at it. He had magic, but the impact of his fall had muted many of his senses. He’d have to wait a while before he could do much of anything.

It was the _waiting_ for things that frightened him. He didn’t like being useless, or injured. If something came for his heart, he’d have little defense against them.

In the midst of his despair, there was a sparking sound just to his left. As obviously as there had been nothing there, the space was suddenly occupied, and a creature loped toward him in the darkness. Aziraphale stayed very still. His shine was nonexistent. Perhaps if he didn’t move, they wouldn’t see him. Until, of course, they did.

Aziraphale recognized what they were the moment he laid eyes on them. _Demon._ Or warlock. At this point, it mattered very little. What the creature was called was nothing compared to what it could _do._

To his credit, Crowley didn’t flinch. He’d never actually _done_ the star hunting before. He’d seen them in various states of panicked, flighty terror, right before their hearts were removed, as much as he’d tried not to watch. He’d seen them after, too, before they were reduced to ash.

Neither compared with seeing one alive, albeit frightened and flickering.

“Get back!” it called, and brandished...nothing. “I...I have a weapon. Somewhere. Not here, with me. Not right this second. But you should be aware! It’s extremely frightening.”

Crowley sighed. “Take it easy, _take it easy._ ” He raised his hands. “I come in peace, yeah? No chest splitting, no heart eating.” He drew an “X” over his own very quickly. “On my honor, or whatever.”

“ _You_ are a warlock. A demon. A creature without character, with no love in your heart. You want to consume me—”

“I don’t,” Crowley said plainly. “I _really_ don’t.”

The star considered him. “And how can I believe that?”

Crowley shrugged. “Guess you either do or don’t. M’Crowley,” he said, and moved closer to examine the creature’s leg. “Hurt yourself then? Falling from the sky?”

“...Yes.”

“I can fix it, if you’ll let me.”

The star looked very conflicted, but it also didn’t have a lot of choices. “...Alright.” It held out its leg as Crowley knelt beside it. With a flourish, the leg was set, healed, and pain free. The star looked relieved.

“Thank you.”

“S’not a problem….”

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley nodded. “Aziraphale. Funny name for a star.”

“Met a lot of us then?” Aziraphale asked coldly.

Crowley shrugged again. “Here and there. Told you, not into the star heart scene. Prefer to do things my way. And right now, you’re the reason I won’t be able to do things my way. People uglier than me are heading this way, probably.” Crowley had assumed that, eventually, Hastur and Ligur would see the error of their ways and come after him. “And we’ve only got a stub of a Babylon candle left—”

“ _You’ve got a Babylon candle!_ ” Aziraphale was now _very_ excited. “Oh, let me see, I’ve never seen one up close—” He crowded Crowley’s space, looking for the candle. He was, honestly, thrilled to see one. They were so rare among humans and such, he only got to see them used on occasion.

Crowley showed him. It was not as impressive as he’d thought it might be.

“It’s...used.”

“Well, _yeah._ I had to get to you first. Now, you’ve got to stop standing here and come with me. If we don’t get a head start, we’ll run into two cranky warlocks who won’t be as nice as I am.”

Aziraphale did not think Crowley had _been_ very nice, so this seemed troubling. “Where are we going? You should know there’s really nowhere that’s _safe_ for me. At least while people who want my heart for their own are wandering about.”

“Yeah, that’s bound to be at least a third of the countryside,” Crowley said, as if he were being _helpful._

Aziraphale sighed. “Listen. I am not _leaving_ —” He sat on the ground to prove his point. “—until you tell me your plan.”

Crowley looked down. _This_ was infuriating.

The star, however, had a point.

“Right. My plan is to get you back to my house, and keep you safe until I can deal with Hastur and Ligur and whoever else comes for you on my terms. Until then, I need _you_ to stop fussing, and I need us _both_ to be moving a lot faster than we currently are. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale did. He didn’t _like it._ But he understood.

“...Yes, alright,” he said, and pushed himself off the ground.

Crowley held up a length of chain. “Don’t make me use this,” he said.

Aziraphale raised a brow. The chain was small, just a few inches, but he suspected Crowley was much cleverer about his magic than he was letting on.

To save them both the trouble of being attached by a thin piece of metal, Aziraphale followed Crowley out of the clearing, still not quite clear on what was about to happen to him.

Which was probably for the best. It was going to be a very _rough_ couple of days.


	2. necessary diversions

_Dear Mr. Shadwell,_

_I am writing to you concerning your book, the very large one with the blue cover and gold, gilded lettering on the front, about the temperament, general and overall nature, and shape, among other things, of stars. I very much enjoyed the book, and it’s the second one I’ve read in my entire life._

_(The first, in case your publishers would be interested, is a book I wrote myself, about a very dashing pirate who is also a detective. It’s quite good, if I do say so myself. Cheered up my friend Brian. He said he’d never read anything as cheer-inducing as my book before, if you can believe it.)_

_Your book was very good, almost as good as a book about pirates, and I read it just a week before I saw a star fall from the sky with my own two eyes. Dog saw it, too, I think, though he’s a dog and so he wouldn’t know a lot about shooting stars. My mum says it’ll just be a hunk of metal, if anyone gets to it, but I think she’s wrong. Is it true, then, that if you eat the heart of a star, you can live forever?_

_And is it true that stars carry stardust? Is it true there are lots of living in the sky stars, and they’re all very beautiful women? That part of the book was confusing. I’m not **really** sure how you could prove that. _

_In conclusion, sir, I would like to speak with you some more about this, so if you could write me back, I do promise to ask more interesting questions the second time around. Only I didn’t want to waste them on this first letter, in case you never responded and I’d wasted all the good questions and then forgot them._

_Best wishes,_

_Adam Young  
Tadfield Village_

* * *

“So,” said Aziraphale, for the fourth time in about an hour. “You are a warlock.”

“I already _told you_ ,” Crowley said. He was getting very tired, both of the walking, and of the chit-chattering star that was nipping at his heels. “Yes. Warlock, demon, whatever you want to call me. Just _don’t_ say it so loud.”

“But you are human.”

“...Eh.” Crowley shrugged. He had been around a very long time. He didn’t really consider himself human, at this stage.

Aziraphale caught up to him. “Your eyes,” he said. “That’s what does it.”

“What about ‘em?”

“Well, they’re...they’re _yellow._ ”

“They’re yellow-ish,” Crowley corrected. “And that was...an accident.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Look, can we do less babbling and more walking, please? You’re slowing us down, what with the _questions_ and the incessant _chatter._ It’s not helping.”

“Helping what?”

“Helping _me_ want to continue helping _you._ I could just leave you right here, you know. Undo the spell that fixed your leg—”

“Eat my heart,” Aziraphale said thinly.

Crowley stopped.

“No,” he said. “Told you. Don’t partake. You can chitter on ‘til daybreak, but you won’t push me that far.”

This, of all the things the star knew about this man, was perhaps the most sound. It took very little to see, and hear, that Crowley seemed to detest the entire concept.

“Have you...have you _ever_ —”

“No.”

“Not even a bite?”

“Not even a bite.”

“But have you _seen_ —”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “I’ve _seen it_. I’ve watched it and I’ve helped carry out the deed, to some extent. We all do, when we witness it, I suppose.” He hitched his bag up. “But I’m not interested. It’s a waste, if you ask me. You stars have all this knowledge, more interesting magic than most of us. And what do we do? Crack open some ribs, scoop out an organ, leave you to turn to ash? Nah.” Crowley pushed the hair back from his forehead. “Not interested. Never again.”

Aziraphale _did_ appreciate that. And he said so. “Really,” he added. “It does mean _something_ to me.”

“Look, just do me a favor and let me walk the next few miles in peace, alright? There’s an inn up the ways, we can stop there and rest.”

“But the Babylon candle—”

“Was burnt down _enough_ before I even got to you. It’s only got one good use left in it, and we’ll need that to get back home as quick as possible. My home,” Crowley added. “I’m not so sure about the magic involved in setting a star back up in the sky.”

Aziraphale had not considered this, and Crowley was now several paces ahead of him. He did have _very_ long legs.

“Do you think it’s possible?” the star asked. He didn’t want to sound _too_ hopeful, but it was hard not to, now that the idea had formed in his head.

Crowley shrugged. “Could be. Don’t see why not. Haven’t got any of the books I’d use to figure it out with me, so you’ll have to wait until we get back.”

“To _your_ home.”

“Yep.”

“Right. Right, of course! Well, I’ll, um. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Shouldn’t,” Crowley said. “Really not that impressive.”

* * *

There were a lot of things about Crowley that _were_ impressive which he often tried to downplay. For starters, he wasn’t so bad to look at. Men and women often agree on this. The second thing was his magical prowess. Crowley had, since he was very young, a very natural gift for magic, one that didn’t come to just anyone. It meant quite a few things, but what it most inconveniently meant was that other magic users were very often trying to kill him.

Hastur and Ligur had both given it a shot, some years back. They concluded that Crowley was not motivated enough to cause either of them any trouble, though he had, in retaliation against their shoddy assassination attempt, trapped the both of them in a bubble between one week and the next. It was a strange period of hours that felt like days, but was really only seconds.

And it had taken very little of Crowley’s energy to do it.

These days, however, he was functioning on reserve power, and that was the second bit Hastur was banking on. If _they_ needed a boost, then Crowley certainly did. He wouldn’t have let anyone know it, of course, but Hastur could sense a warlock’s draining magic quite easily, and so he let his nose be the guide.

“Stop here,” he told Ligur, pointing to a small inn just over a hill.

“Here? S’late. Could just camp.”

“Nah. He’s in there. With our star.”

Ligur glanced at Hastur, then the little inn. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.” Had to trust Hastur on this one, even though the last time he’d trusted Hastur, for real, had been seventeen years ago. He couldn’t remember what for.

* * *

While Hastur and Ligure were continuing their search, Anathema had decided to call hers off. She was, according to quick rune toss that morning, wasting her time. The star was likely headed toward her, and if she could simply have patience, it would not be long. The timing of her runes was never exact, but she suspected it would be within the next two days.

So, instead of setting out, Anathema remained in her cottage, tending her garden, and looking expectantly down the road.

For the third time that week, Newton Pulsifer was walking up the length of it.

He was not, actually, walking toward her. He happened to _have_ to walk toward her in order to get to his job, just a few streets past where Anathema lived. Most days, he didn’t speak to her. This was fine, as far as she was concerned. What Anathema did not understand was that Newton Pulsifer did not speak to her not because he was rushed or distracted, or focused on the day ahead, but rather because Newton Pulsifer did not speak to _most_ women he met, other than Liza, who worked at the bookshop with him. He found Anathema to be quite beautiful, but also appreciated the fact that she didn’t acknowledge him.

He’d probably have combusted if she did.

Today, however, something felt...different. She watched Newton make his way up the road and, possessed by a force that was newly settled into her bones, she called out, “Good morning!” and waited for his response.

There were a few ways to respond to someone’s, “Good morning!” and Newton was well aware of them.

The first was your typical, “Good morning!” in return. Simple, to the point, no one got confused.

The second was a bit of the dark comedy route, where when someone said, “Good morning!” you responded with a bitter, “Is it?” in hopes they would get the joke and laugh. This was too complicated for Newt, who had never been particularly funny, or much of a jokester. People mistook his sarcasm for genuine commentary far too often, and the jokes he tried to tell were often bits of wordplay only he really understood.

The last way to respond to someone’s, “Good morning!” was an inspired, “Isn’t it, though?” as if you were about to discuss, at length, how the day was set to improve.

Newton’s day hardly ever improved. But it never seemed to get any worse, either. In this case, it had gotten more confusing, as Anathema Device had never once before acknowledged his existence, but was now waving and smiling and bidding him, “Good morning!”

And instead of answering, Newton Pulsifer made a few wrong steps, took his eyes off the road, and walked into the pond.

It was not, he realized, a very good morning.

Not at all.

* * *

The night before, however, a star and a demon — or a warlock or _whatever_ he wanted to call himself — were sitting at a table in a very small inn, eating soup, and trying not to fall asleep in it. Crowley was, at least. Aziraphale was eating soup and enjoying the roaring fire. He’d never sat so close to one before, or anything for that matter. Yes, while he would have _loved_ to be returned to the sky so that he might observe and wonder, he was, quite honestly, enjoying himself.

Crowley could tell.

“You might want to, eh...tone down the joyfulness. Just a smidge.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re shining, starlight. Not anything fierce, mind you. Pretty sure only I can tell, I’m sensitive to, you know—” He waved a hand. “That.”

“I don’t know, actually.” Aziraphale set down his spoon. “Explain it to me.”

“Your _magic_ ,” Crowley said, voice barely above a whisper. “My eyes, they’re just...it’s what it is, alright? Don’t make me explain it to you.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley did a lot of that, it seemed. Brought up _fascinating_ little tidbits about himself before shutting down an entire conversation with just a look. It would have been bothersome if Aziraphale wasn’t, honestly, enjoying it. He’d never really collected data like this before. Made him wish he had something to write it down in.

But, Crowley was right. He needed to keep himself in check if he wanted to avoid detection. The clothes, apparently, were going to have to be changed as well. Crowley said they marked him as an aristocrat, and they couldn’t have _that._

After dinner, they got up and went to their room. Crowley could only secure one, with a modestly sized bed in it. He picked his side, set his bag down beside it, and kicked off his shoes. Didn’t bother changing. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “And you should, too.”

“Oh, I’m a _star_ ,” said Aziraphale. “Sleep is...unnecessary.”

Crowley shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he muttered, and stretched out. He used a bit of magic to alarm their door, and most of the inn. If Hastur, Ligur, or anyone with less than savory intentions toward Aziraphale got anywhere close to them, he’d know.

* * *

That night, in a village in Tadfield, Adam Young sat up in bed, sweat soaking the front of his pajama shirt, as he imagined a star, laid out on a stone slab, shivering in fear.

The star was not, as he’d previously imagined, a beautiful woman. But rather, a very kind and dapper looking gentleman. He hoped Mr. Shadwell would write back soon. Adam was fairly certain the man had never met a star, just as he was certain his dream was prophetic.

The night before, he’d dreamt of his star walking along the road beside a man with yellow eyes — a bit like a snake’s.

Adam grabbed his notebook from his bedside table, a pencil, and lit a candle. All of this needed to be written down. For posterity’s sake.

Say what you would about the boy — he _was_ going to be very important someday. And you never knew what kind of little things from the past would matter quite a bit in the future.

* * *

In the cover of darkness, Hastur and Ligur slunk toward the inn.

Crowley sat up quite suddenly, and found the star to be very much asleep.

* * *

“Wake up!” someone said in his ear. Aziraphale groaned and pushed them away. “Wake _up_ , you. They’re here.”

“What?”

“Hastur and Ligur.”

Aziraphale looked over. Crowley was pulling on his boots. “Wha’dyu mean?” Aziraphale said, stifling a yawn. “Who is that?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re here to kill you. Now get _up_ before they find us. I’ve set up some wards to throw them off, but Hastur’s got a nose like a bloodhound, and I am _not_ what I was fifty years ago.”

“What does that mean?”

Crowley looked at him, and quite suddenly, Aziraphale could see it.

He had bags under his eyes and a grey streak in one part of his hair. The worry lines around his mouth were more pronounced, now, in the harsh realities of four AM. And his hands, while most often giving off the illusion of steadiness, did appear to tremble, if only for a moment.

“You’re weak,” Aziraphale said, though not unkindly.

“Not weak,” Crowley snapped. “Running low on...power, you could say.”

“On purpose?”

“No. Yes. I don’t _know._ Can we just _go?_ They’ll be here any minute, and we’ve got to climb out the window before I change my mind about it—”

“Climb out the window?” Aziraphale was wearing his shoes now, and walking toward the window with renewed purpose. “We’re three stories up!”

“So we’ll just have to be bloody careful, won’t we?” Crowley threw his bag over his shoulder. “Look, down there. It’s a cart with some hay in it. Won’t be _fun_ , but it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

“I could _do_ something,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head. “Not here. Not right now. You’ll give yourself away to anyone looking for you in a thirty mile radius. Maybe more.” It was true — Aziraphale’s magic was... _bright._ He hadn’t used it much yet, save for a moment when he’d made his side of the bed a bit warmer. The glow was magnificent, but Crowley had not appreciated it.

“You light up here, and we’re done for,” he said, before urging Aziraphale onto the window sill. “Up you get.”

“But I—”

“Be scared later,” Crowley said, and gave the star a hearty shove, watching him tumble into the hay filled cart below. It took a few seconds but Aziraphale recovered and, looking back up, motioned for Crowley to jump down himself.

“It’s not as bad as it looks!” he called, though this probably should not have been said to someone like Crowley, who was not looking Particularly Well. Aziraphale would have to sort that out later. “Come on!” he called out.

Up on the window sill, Crowley looked down at the jump he’d have to manage. Life was easier, he realized, when he wasn’t rescuing stars. Life was so much easier on his own.

The door behind him burst open, as if to remind him, _it could always be worse_.

“You!” Hastur pointed.

Crowley gave him a smile and waved. “Aw, well you both look _great_ ,” he said, and flung himself out of the window.

The cart below was attached to a horse. It had not really noticed Aziraphale who, in a sudden panic, had used a very, very, _very_ small amount of magic to cushion his fall. He’d flickered for only a second, and Crowley had been too busy wondering if he’d finally gone _mad_ to notice. However, Aziraphale had seen and heard the other two warlocks burst into their room and was now _very_ distracted.

When Crowley hit the cart, it was with an uncomfortable _crunch_ as he crushed the hay beneath him.

The horse heard that one.

She took off with a whinny and began barrelling down the path. Hastur and Ligur were leaning out the window, and Crowley, finally upright and able to see straight, shouted out to them, “So long, suckers!” before realizing that they were now in sudden pursuit.

That was a benefit, he realized, to just taking the proverbial leap into professional star heart eating. While Crowley had maintained his magic and strength for some years with a variety of remedies and fixes, Hastur and Ligur had gone straight to the source, and it showed. Crowley was better than them, at pretty much everything. But right now, they were just a few steps ahead when it came to power, and he could _feel_ it.

“They’re catching up,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder. He’d taken the reins of the cart and was making sure the horse stayed on the path. “I could do something!”

“You won’t!” Crowley said, because he was determined to keep this star duller than a bean. He could handle Hastur and Ligur coming after them. He could understand if others were slowly wandering about the countryside, trying to find the energy to look for a fallen star.

If Aziraphale lit up the night, they’d be inundated. And Crowley...didn’t have what it took to deal with that.

But he had what he had. And he knew what he needed to do.

* * *

There was a very loud _crack!_ And the cart in front of them was suddenly very far ahead. A pale, grey dot on the horizon that suddenly vanished from Hastur’s line of sight.

“Idiot,’ he muttered.

“That was the last of his magic,” Ligur said.

Hastur nodded. “It was.”

“Pretty stupid of him.”

“Pretty stupid of him,” Hastur agreed.

Several miles ahead, a warlock slumped over in a cart full of hay, and a star, who’d never been here before, became very, very lost.

* * *

“Good morning!” Anathema called out.

Newton Pulsifer walked into a lake.

He was fished out a few minutes later, and given a large blanket and a cup of tea.

“S-sorry,” was all he could manage. Anathema was just sending a boy up the road to tell the bookshop Newton wouldn’t be coming in today. “I could go in later,” he said.

Anathema raised a brow. “Do you _want_ to? You smell like pond scum.”

She made a good point. Newt wrapped the blanket tighter around him. He was mostly dry and kind of cold. It was Not Quite summer yet, and late spring still brought some chilly afternoons.

He gave a cursory glance around Anathema’s cottage. She had a lot of herbs drying, several shelves of very old books, and a table covered with a variety of things Newton didn’t really understand.

He came to the conclusion, though, that she was a witch. His gran had taught him all about witches, and warned him to never allow himself to be seduced by one. They were demons, she said, and couldn’t be trusted.

Anathema did not have horns or a tail. She didn’t have red eyes or flaming hair. She had black hair, actually, and Newt suddenly wondered what it smelled like.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.

“...No,” he finally said. “M’fine.”

“Good.” Anathema set her bandages aside. “Sorry you fell in the pond.”

“Things happen.”

“Yeah, but bad luck.”

Newton shrugged. Bad luck was just part of who he was. A lot of things people called Bad Luck happened to and around him. Newton had simply started to be at peace with it.

He watched as Anathema moved around her kitchen, putting things in one place and then another. She seemed to be preparing for something, but Newton couldn’t really tell exactly what. He sipped his tea, however, and was content to watch her work. He’d always wondered what witches got up to.

“Are you working on a spell?” he asked.

Anathema glanced at him. “No,” she said. “I’m...waiting for someone.” She had some herbs and a mortar and pestle sat out. They seemed very excited about their potential use. Newt wasn’t sure exactly _how_ , but he could tell they were looking forward to helping.

“Do you want any help?” he asked.

Anathema stopped and considered him. Newt wondered if he’d gone too far.

“Have you ever fixed a roof?”

Newt frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Part of my roof,” she said. “It leaks. Have you ever fixed anything like that?” He nodded. “Good. You can help with that.”

On most days, Newton Pulsifer walked to the library, shelved books, and helped people find things. He chased children out who weren’t doing anything useful, and ignored people who just wanted a quiet place to sleep. Newt enjoyed his job. It was easy, it paid well, and it never really changed.

This was a change he didn’t mind so much. Anathema stopped him from smelling like algae, she made him lunch at midday, and he made them both lemonade.

All in all it was a very nice Wednesday afternoon. When Newton left, he felt rather refreshed, despite all the work he’d done. It was almost enough to make him forget he’d still have to go to the library the next morning.

As he left, he watched Anathema start to peer out the kitchen window down the road rather expectantly.

“Will they be here soon?”

“Hm?”

“Your guests,” Newton said. “Will they be here tonight?”

Anathema stared out the window another minute longer, then turned to him. She smiled. “I think so.”

“Well, I’ll just be heading out then.”

“Mmhm.” She wasn’t really listening to him anymore.

“Um, good night,” he said, picking up his things.

“Good night,” she called after him, rather absently. Newt sighed and left the cottage. Whoever was coming by that evening must have been quite important, he thought. They must have been other witches, maybe, or the sorts of guests who sought the counsel of witches when things started going wrong. Newt wasn’t sure what _kind_ of witch Anathema was, but he had to believe that she was one of the Good Ones. His gran had never told him about any Good Witches. Her witches were always very wicked and wanted to stew young men like him up and eat them for dinner.

Anathema had made them sandwiches, and she’d said his lemonade was quite good.

Newt was so busy thinking about Anathema’s curls and the little bit of mustard that had lingered on her lip until she’d found it, and the pale blue in her curtains, and the pears in her fruit basket — he almost didn’t realize he was about to be run over by a very fast moving cart being driven by a man who had no idea how something as basic as a clock worked, let alone how to control a horse.

* * *

Aziraphale nearly ran over a young man before he saw a cottage with the light on. He could see someone staring out at them, and, in a panic, he threw out his magic and discovered precisely who and what she was.

The horse, miraculously, finally seemed to tire out, just as they reached the cottage.

The young witch stepped out to meet them.

From the back of cart, Crowley groaned. He did not sound well.

* * *

The precise methods Crowley used to extend his life and fortify his magic were quite unknown to everyone but Crowley. He did not like to share them. He did not make them obvious.

Anathema Device was not stupid. She was, occasionally, rather foolish, like she’d been today when she spent the afternoon with Newton Pulsifer who, while not being particularly handsome or good with tools, had still managed to fix her roof, and looked rather good while doing it.

Still. She knew things. Important things. She knew, for example, that Crowley’s eyes were not natural. And she knew the tattoo just below his right temple was not just for show, but rather a sort of...contract. Or a connection. Or some kind of _deal_ that had been made. At the very least, it marked him as a kind of Other, and she was certainly wary of doing much of anything with him other than making him a strong cup of tea.

“I think he’s dying,” the star said. Indeed, Aziraphale had noticed, now that they were inside, that Crowley’s hair had a bit more grey to it, and the lines around his mouth were more pronounced. He looked paler than he had before, as if... _everything_ was draining out of him at once.

“He’s a warlock,” Anathema said. “A demon.”

“He is also my friend,” Aziraphale said. “He saved me, more than once, and I certainly owe him this.”

Anathema considered the star. He seemed very attached to the creature resting in her spare room. They’d obviously been through a lot together within the last forty-eight hours.

“You’re sure he’s not going to cut out your heart?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can be very sure of that. More sure than I am about you,” he added, glancing at her.

Anathema tried to give him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Aziraphale glanced around the house, then grinned. “Oh!” he said. “Oh, you’re a _diviner._ Then you _must_ be in need of some _stardust_ ,” he said. He reached into his pocket and dug around for a moment before producing a handful. “Will this do?”

Anathema was taken aback. It was more stardust than her mother had ever procured in one sitting. “I...yes,” she said. “Of course it’s enough.” She glanced at Crowley, who slept fitfully. “You know,” she said. “If you could make just a bit more of this...I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Well it wouldn’t be as good as a heart, but if neither he nor I have any intention of cutting yours out, and if I can’t really pinpoint exactly what keeps...all _this_ —” She gestured toward the bed. “—going, then I think stardust just might help us out. At least, we can try.”

“I’d like to,” the star said. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “He’s been very good to me, despite what he’d rather be doing.”

“And what’s that?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Sitting at home, I think. Living his life in peace.” He reached out and took Crowley’s hand carefully in his own. “I think that’s what we all prefer, most days.”

Anathema observed them for a few more minutes before she turned and went into the kitchen.

 _Please let this work_ , she begged no one in particular.

She wasn’t sure she could live with herself if she took that man from that star.


	3. slowly, and then, all at once

Crowley woke and did not feel Particularly Well. It could have been any number of things, but he suspected it was mostly because he had been drinking something _terrible_ and he was currently having more of it forced down his throat.

He sputtered as he woke and spat it out. A young woman flinched and swore.

“Excuse you!” she said, and Crowley sat up.

“Excuse _you_ ,” he snapped back, and immediately regretted it. His _head_ was _pounding._ Crowley fell backwards into the bed with a groan.

“Serves you right,” the girl said, and turned on her heel before leaving the room.

Crowley stared up at the ceiling. _This_ was a witch’s house, he realized. And he couldn’t see Aziraphale anywhere.

 _No, no, no, no_ , he thought, panic flooding his veins. They had to get out of here. It didn’t matter how blood _quaint_ the cottage was, or how _pretty_ she’d been. Witches were _witches_ , and they’d just as soon cut out a star’s heart as burn sage before tea time. No, he had to get out of this bed, he had to find Aziraphale, find his star —

“Crowley!” The door to the room flung open and there, _there_ , he was, holding a bloody basket of _daffodils._

And _shining._ He was shining like an absolute madman.

“Are you insane?” Crowley asked, and forced himself out of bed. “Do you know where in the _hell_ we are?”

“Oh, yes. But not to worry, Anathema has promised me up and down she’s got no interest in star hearts.” Aziraphale pulled up a chair by the bed and started pulling the leaves off the daffodils. “ _And_ she had the most brilliant idea. Things were looking _quite_ grim, where you were concerned. I really thought I’d — _we’d_ lost you.” He looked up from his task and smiled. “But we sorted it out.”

“Is that the...the _stuff_ she was giving me?”

“Yes! A tea. Infused with stardust.”

“ _Stardust?_ ”

“Mmhm! It’s not the most potent of remedies. Nothing compared to a heart, really. Or whatever it is you’ve done over the years…” He trailed off in hopes that Crowley might...tell him. He was incredibly curious still.

Crowley wasn’t really listening. He was, instead, looking down at his hands. They were steady, for the first time in quite a while, and looked far younger than they had in years. When he caught his reflection in the mirror he found that his hair was not its usual silvery red, but much...fuller. Everything about him looked better. Not the _best_ he’d ever looked, but certainly not terrible.

“I’ll be damned…Well, more so than I already am.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “You did this?” he asked, looking at Aziraphale.

“Well, I only _helped._ It was Ms. Anathema’s idea, really. She’s an absolutely _brilliant_ young woman. Have you met her?”

“He spat at me,” someone said. The woman who must have been Anathema swept into the room.

“You were _drowning_ me.”

Anathema raised a brow and turned to Aziraphale. “Lunch is ready.”

“Oh, excellent.”

“ _Lunch?_ ” Crowley went to the window and threw open the curtains. “What in the — how _long_ have I been sleeping?”

“Just a day or so.”

“Two days,” Anathema said. “You were dying. You’re not anymore.” She turned and left the room again. Crowley slumped against the window sill.

This was a disaster. This was _insanity._ Hastur and Ligur were going to be upon them in minutes, he was sure of it, he was absolutely _certain_ —

Aziraphale came behind him and put a careful hand on his shoulder. “It’s been two days,” he said. “And no one’s bothered us. Except a nice young man from down the road. He’s been popping in the last two evenings under the pretense of helping Ms. Anathema with things I’m _certain_ she could fix up better than he.”

“Love makes you do funny things,” Crowley said idly.

“...Love?”

“Hm?”

“Did you say _love?_ ”

“Yeah.” He turned around. “S’all over the place here.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I did wonder if that’s what I was sensing. Everywhere, you see. There’s a great deal of love.”

“Humans,” Crowley said. “They’re sick with it.” He moved past Aziraphale and into the main part of the house where Anathema was setting out some plates. “Enchantments on the place then, diviner?” He’d spotted the star charts and the runes straight away.

She looked up. “Several, demon.”

Crowley raised a brow. He looked down the path. “What day is it?”

“Saturday morning.”

“Is it, then? You’ve got a visitor.” He turned as Anathema stood and went to the window.

“ _Newt._ ” She rushed out and into the garden as a young man opened the gate. His arms were full of things — paper, quills and ink, a few loaves of bread. Crowley heard Anathema say, “You didn’t have to bring all that,” as she scooped some of it from him.

Crowley turned away.

* * *

“Did he really write you back?” Pepper asked. She was balancing on Farmer Tyler’s fence, which she was not _allowed_ to do, but was just one of a number of things she did anyway.

“He did,” Adam said, brandishing Mr. Shadwell’s letter.

“And? What did he say?”

“If you’d stop talking, I’ll read it to you.” Adam climbed onto a tree stump and sat. Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale all sat around him, as they often did when Adam Young held court in the woods just past Farmer Tyler’s fence.

_Dear Mr. Young,_

_I appreciate you writing me, and knowing you read my book. Unfortunately my publishers no longer trust me with new book ideas. However, I will pass along your detective pirate story and see if they are interested._

_Now, to answer your questions:_

_1\. Yes, there are many stars living in the heavens above. They rarely fall to our earth, however. It takes great acts of faith, magic, or otherwise to force them down._

_2\. Stars can make as little or as much stardust as they like. However, it has little or no use. It’s really just for show._

_3\. Of course all stars are beautiful women. What else would they be?_

_Now, in response to your first question, and by far your most interesting, it is true that if you eat the heart of a star, you can live for several hundred years. However, it is widely considered to be quite dark magic that, killing and eating stars. And, on top of it all, you’ve got to have a nice, happy, shining star in order to get the most out of it._

_I do not recommend hunting a star. You’ll find yourself up against a variety of creatures and demons who would have no qualms killing a young lad such as yourself if it meant getting to eternal life._

_If you like my book, I recommend my others, including my series on seeing witch signs, hunting witches, killing witches, and knowing the difference between witches and warlocks._

_Best Wishes,_

_Corporal Shadwell, of the the Witchfinder Army, and A.A. Bondy & Sons Publishing_

“See?” Adam showed them the letter. “It’s a real thing.”

Pepper looked skeptical. “I don’t see why he’s got to emphasize that stars are all these beautiful gorgeous women. And I _don’t_ really think there’s much difference between witches and warlocks. Seems to me it’s just something you call yourself.”

“Well, he’s an expert though, isn’t he?” asked Brian. “He wrote a book.”

“Just because he wrote a book doesn’t mean he knows anything at all,” Pepper said. “Could be he made it all up.”

“They don’t let just _anyone_ write a book,” Wensleydale said. “You’ve got to have credentials and such.”

“ _Witchfinder_ doesn’t seem to be much of a credential,” Pepper said.

Adam finally spoke. “No. I think he’s right. Half right, at least.”

“Why’s that?”

He hesitated. Having dreams that you were quite certain were prophecies — or at the very least letting you spy on people — wasn’t really a _great_ thing to talk about. Could get you accused of all sorts of things. Making deals with the devil, for starters.

But Adam was with his friends, and they trusted him beyond compare.

“I’ve been havin’ these dreams, see. About a star.”

“Is she beautiful?” asked Brian.

“Not a she,” Adam said. “It’s a man. Wearing a very nice waistcoat. Well, in the first one he was. In the second one he wasn’t. He was wearing clothes like my dad. Looked awfully plain, really. And he was with someone. Someone with...with yellow eyes. Eyes like a snake, sort of.”

“ _That’s_ a demon,” Brian said. “My gran told me about them.”

“Well he didn’t act like a demon,” Adam snapped. “He was...he was helping the star. It’s like they were great friends, or something.”

“A demon wants to eat stars,” Brian said. “Most people do. I already knew the bit about star hearts,” he added, very impressed with himself. Brian lived with his gran, and she’d filled his head with all sorts of stories when he was much younger. He considered himself an unprofessional expert on All Things Occult, even though if Brian knew half of what his gran had been _trying_ to explain, he’d not have called himself that at all. He’d have asked her to stop telling him such stories.

The truth was all a bit more frightening.

“I hope this star stays safe,” Wensleydale said, after they’d all sat with this news for a bit. “I mean, it’d be a shame to fall to earth and then...then have your heart cut out. And eaten. I think that’d just be awful.”

Even Pepper, who hated agreeing with anyone, agreed.

* * *

“Can’t smell ‘em,” Hastur said.

“Neither can I,” Ligur said.

“Left the runes at home,” Hastur said.

“Idiot,” Ligur muttered.

They were no closer to Crowley and the star than they’d been a few days ago.

Anathema’s cottage was quite safe from their wicked ways.

* * *

Crowley allowed them to spend one more day with Anathema. After that, he said, they may as well lie down in the road with a big _eat me!_ sign overhead, so passing witches and the like could just stop by and pick them both apart. He’d made quite a few enemies over the last two centuries or so. One of them was bound to pass by eventually.

Aziraphale was overjoyed. He had never heard of a witch like Anathema before, and she had never thought she’d get close to a star like this ever, in her whole life.

“So you don’t believe that everything is written in the stars?” Aziraphale asked. She’d given him a cup of cocoa, and he was enjoying it immensely.

Anathema shook her head. “Nothing is ever written in the stars,” she said. “Just...suggested. I mean, I do divine with them. They point out things I might have missed, and sometimes a constellation helps me see things clearer. I do, actually need to go out and do a few readings, actually. Would you excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” He smiled as she stood and settled into his chair.

Out in the garden, Anathem swung her pendulum to and fro. It kept pointing down the path, to where Newton Pulsifer came from each day, and where Aziraphale and Crowley had come from a few days prior. She wasn’t sure which of them she was supposed to be focusing on, but her thoughts continuously returned to Newt. Gangly, awkward Newt who had to keep pushing his glasses up his now and couldn’t get his hair to lay flat at all.

“Am I doing the right thing?” she murmured. “Is this the right choice?”

The stars didn’t answer. However, back inside the house, Aziraphale was getting the distinct feeling that the stars above were, actually, _listening_ to Anathema. Perhaps not the ones he knew best — Gabriel, certainly, didn’t have much patience for diviners. But there were others he knew who would hear the poor girl out. Aziraphale sighed contentedly.

“Nice night,” Crowley said, startling him.

“Good heavens.”

“Scare you, starlight?”

“Yes, actually. I was contemplating.”

“Contemplating what?”

Aziraphale sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Crowley couldn’t see it, of course, but Aziraphale could gaze right past the plaster and bricks and shingles, into the heavens above. _Home_ , he thought, and wondered if he’d ever get back.

“Nothing,” he said. Crowley didn’t press the issue. “Do we really have to leave tomorrow?”

“This cottage’s defenses aren’t going to last forever. Every day we stay here is a day we put that girl in danger. If you care about her as much as you say you do, then we need to go.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, _alright._ Have you thanked her?”

“Hm?”

“Anathema. Have you _thanked_ her?”

Crowley frowned. “What for?”

“Saving your _life_ , for starters!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“Crowley, she deserves something.”

Crowley raised a brow. “Does she now? What, for making a stupid mistake? I could have killed her. I could still kill her. Done it before, could do it again.”

Aziraphale set down his mug. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop...stop _pretending_ you’re anymore dangerous than me.”

Crowley smirked. “Oh, you’re very dangerous, starlight. You’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Every witch and warlock with any sense about them would be descending on this cottage right now if it were empty of that girl. She could turn on us in minutes. You possess eternal _life_ in your very chest. What makes you think she isn’t going to betray us both?”

“Because I trust her, Crowley. And I think, deep down, you trust her, too.”

Crowley scowled. “I don’t trust anyone,” he said. “You can’t. Not in this world, or any other.”

“Then why are we still traveling together, hm? It certainly isn’t because you’re going to kill me and take what I’ve got. I know that.”

“You don’t,” Crowley snapped.

“Yes,” Aziraphale insisted. “I _do._ ”

They were staring one another down. Crowley wasn’t sure why he was so on edge. Why he was trying to start a fight. He didn’t want Aziraphale to leave at all. Nor did he want him to die, or suffer. He wanted him safe, because whatever Hastur and Ligur had planned, no single soul or star above deserved. Crowley took a step back.

This was a Feeling, he realized. And he was _not_ enjoying it.

“I’m going to bed,” he said finally. “I...we’ll leave in the morning. First light.”

Aziraphale relaxed. He didn’t want to fight, and certainly not with Crowley. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

Outside in the garden, Anathema sat down beside her roses, closed her eyes, and considered the world.

* * *

It was quite early when Crowley and Aziraphale made ready to leave. Anathema wrapped up some bread and cheese for their trip and pressed it into Aziraphale’s hands. “Be careful,” she said. He did not miss her glance at Crowley.

“You’ve nothing to worry about my dear,” he said. “I’m quite safe.” He turned and went to the cart and horse they’d brought with them to her cottage. Crowley was beside himself about it. The last thing he needed was another horse.

Well, perhaps not the _last_ thing. He’d take a horse over a great number of things happening to him over the next few days.

“Don’t get attached,” he warned the horse, and turned to go speak with Anathema. She didn’t seem especially keen on talking with him, but he did owe her something.

She had, after all, saved his life.

“Here,” he said, and handed her something.

“What’s this?”

“It’s not a whole lot, but it’s all I’ve got. Probably do you better than coin, and I’m no good with words.”

Anathema took the thing wrapped in paper and unwound the string keeping it closed. “Is this...is this your Babylon candle?” Crowley nodded. “But you’ve got to get home, you can’t give me this.”

“We’re not too far, if we ride quick enough. And we’ll get lost among the rabble in Tadfield, throw ‘em off our trail. There’s nothing you should worry about,” he said. “Because I’m going to keep him safe.”

Anathem looked up. She hadn’t trusted Crowley at all, the entire three days he’d been in her cottage. Now, however, when she looked in those strange, yellow eyes, the ones that marked him as Other, as something far removed from her, something that had once been Human and was now, decidedly, _Not_ — she understood that he was telling her the truth.

She didn’t need stars or runes to tell her that.

“Be safe,” she said.

“And you as well,” he replied.

Anathema gripped the candle close.

She was going to _miss_ them.

* * *

“You gave her your candle?”

“Mmhm.”

“But how will we get back?”

“We’ve got this horse,” Crowley said, though he was less than pleased about it. “Can’t believe I’ve got two bloody horses now.”

“Oh, you’ve got another?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What’s its name?”

Crowley scowled. “It doesn’t have one, and we’re not giving this one a name either.”

“Oh my dear, I’m terribly sorry, but she’s already got one.” Aziraphale reached out from the seat in the cart and patted the horse’s rump. “It’s Florence.”

* * *

There are some things in this world it is simply not possible to know. They are the kind of things that we believe in because we have Faith.

Shadwell believes that every star that has fallen to earth has taken the form of an irresistibly beautiful woman. Not because he desires them, but because he could not imagine every witch in the world chasing after a star wearing a velvet waistcoat and a tartan scarf, his eyes wide with wonder at the little things he’d never been close enough to see before.

It’s the same as Love, from Crowley’s perspective. He had never paid much mind to it, had never participated in it, but he knew it existed. Humans were always going on about it. He supposes if he hadn’t given so much of himself away over the years, he’d probably have been more susceptible to it.

And it’s because of this Doubt, because of the fact that he must take the existence of Love on Faith, that he was not aware of it creeping up on him. It was faster than Ligur or Hastur. More dangerous than any creature that could come for him.

Silent, is what it is. Like a storm. Comes on gently, you see.

And then, all at once.

* * *

Adam went to the market every Sunday with his mother. They needed things like flour and sugar and fish. Adam wanted candied apples and bits of chocolate, but he needed to behave all week to get things like that, and he and the others had gotten caught by Farmer Tyler playing Stars and Witches, which was really just hide and seek, except there was only one hider, and everyone else was a witch armed with angry knives.

So he was not allowed to have any chocolate.

He was, however, allowed to go to the fruit stall by himself. He was eleven, after all. He could buy apples on his own, and his mother wanted to make a pie.

“—one is a pear?”

“This one.”

“Oh, it’s lovely.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! Yes, I do.”

Someone made a noise that could have been laughter, if it wasn’t so obvious they’d been out of practice at it. They bought two pears.

Adam stood behind them, empty basket in hand, and when they turned around he realized it was the men from his dreams — the star, wearing the set of plain clothes Adam had seen him wearing while he writhed on the stone slab —

And the demon. Yellow eyes, strange tattoo, dark cloak and auburn hair.

They didn’t see him. They were very much in their own world. Adam watched them head down the way.

“And what is this again?”

“It’s a market, starlight. Sells all sorts of things, _besides_ pears.”

“I think it’s brilliant.”

“Yeah,” the demon said, his gaze lingering on the star’s hands as he turned the pear over in his palms. “I suppose it is.”


	4. red strings of destiny

Aziraphale had never seen a market before. He had never seen _most_ of the things Crowley had been showing him all afternoon. Crowley tried to explain that Tadfield wasn’t very large, that it wasn’t very _important_ , but Aziraphale had to disagree.

“There’s a great deal of—”

“ _Don’t_ say _love_ ,” Crowley said, though not with his usual bitterness. He seemed tired, but Aziraphale suspected he still hadn’t fully recovered. His magic was quite strong, of course. He’d done a number of little tricks along the way, and in the market. But something was troubling him. Aziraphale could sense it.

There were, of course, a number of things on Crowley’s mind. He was thinking about pears, for starters. He was thinking about starlight, and how Aziraphale kept lighting up with it every time he saw something he liked. He was thinking about Babylon candles, and how a brand new one could have taken them far, _far_ away together. Away from Hastur and Ligur. Away from home where he’d be alone again, once all this was over.

Crowley had been around for so long, had spent so much of his time and energy just trying to _survive_ , he’d never considered that he didn’t _want_ to be alone. That maybe he was alright not living forever, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the remainder of his days in solitude.

The idea was Terrifying.

“...Crowley.” Aziraphale put a hand on his elbow.

 _Silent_ , Crowley realized.

“The sun is going down. Did you want to stay here tonight? Or push on?”

_Like a storm._

“I, uh.” He glanced around. The market was clearing out. Stalls and shops closing down. Tadfield rolled up the sidewalks early, it seemed.

_Comes on gently._

“Let’s stay here,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled.

_And then — all at once._

* * *

Adam Young paced the length of his bedroom and made ready his stick.

He could feel it. He was inching closer to his vision and he needed to do _something_ to make sure it didn’t happen. It was his duty, he knew this now. Whatever anyone said, whatever anyone else _felt_ about it, Adamn knew — the star needed to be kept safe.

But where, when the creature was strapped to the table, was his demon? Because the demon was certainly his, Adam could feel that in the market earlier that day.

He ran to his bookshelf. Somewhere, someone had loaned him a story, probably Wensleydale. He was always trying to get them all to read more.

In Japan and Korea, they believed the gods bound those meant to be together by a red string. He could have sworn he’d seen it, today. But he wasn’t sure if _they_ had.

Well, the star hadn’t. Not yet, anyway. The demon — he knew, Adam suspected. He watched the other one like he knew.

Love was strange. Adam didn’t know it well. He knew his mother and father loved one another. He knew he loved Dog. He knew he loved Tadfield. More than anything.

Someday, Adam Young was going to be a Very Important Man. No one knew this, not _really_ , but later on, they’d all admit, _we knew Adam was going to be important._

Red string and good sticks — Adam cast a glance at his. It was _thrumming_ with importance.

* * *

Somewhere, several miles away, Hastur and Ligur crept closer to their goal.

They were not there yet. They weren’t close _enough_ yet.

But they were getting there. And it’s the _getting there_ that matters, in the end, even when the journey is inherently wicked.

* * *

And in a little cottage a day’s travel away, Anathema Device let Newton Pulsifer make her dinner. It wasn’t bad, and it wasn’t good. But it was perfect all the same.

When they kissed their glasses knocked together, and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles.

* * *

“What a gorgeous view,” Aziraphale announced, nearly throwing himself out the window.

“ _Careful_ ,” Crowley said, and pulled him back in.

“No, but _look_ at that sunset! I never really got to see them, not the way you do. I saw the sun all the time of course, but to really see it, it’s understandable that some people thought the world was flat, or that the earth was the center of everything.”

Crowley made a noise and called down for hot water for a bath. He was exhausted, still. He ached, deep in his bones.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, as the water was delivered. “Would you like some time alone?”

“You shouldn’t leave the room now,” Crowley answered, and started to undress. Aziraphale nodded. Modesty was a very _human_ concept, and while Crowley insisted that he really wasn’t much of one these days, Aziraphale believed he’d like some privacy. He stretched out on the bed and let himself doze off.

A luxury, really.

Later, Crowley woke him and called for a fresh bath and they switched, though he didn’t do much dozing. Instead, he listened to Aziraphale humming while he counted ceiling tiles.

 _No more deals_ , he thought. _No more trade offs and strange concoctions._

What was he going to do with another two hundred years? Spend it alone? In his stupid house? Waiting for Hastur and Ligur to show up and try to kill him? They’d certainly never stop now, once Crowley had made sure their star was safely stowed away. They’d always be after him, always be trying to cure the world of him.

He wasn’t a sickness, he thought. But when your world was like his, Crowley supposed he sort of was.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was out of the bath and dressed. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“Well, it’s only...you’ve just seemed rather off, today. And I wonder...I wonder if I could talk to you. About something.”

Crowley sat up. Aziraphale sat very close to him. Crowley wanted him just a bit closer.

“I’ve been trying to sort out, the last few days, why I...why I’m here. No one made me do this, and I certainly didn’t fall out of the sky of my own accord. But I _did_ ,” Aziraphale said. “And just an hour after I’d done it, you were there. And you wanted to make sure I was alright. I couldn’t sort that. Why would someone like you want that for me?” He laughed. “I doubt even _you_ could explain it.

“But then I...I started to think _about_ you. About how you said you’d spent all these years doing different things so you’d never have to eat the heart of a star. I couldn’t figure out why. _Why_ , Crowley? Why would you...why would you do this to yourself?” He reached out and touched the tattoo just under Crowley’s temple. Crowley didn’t pull away. “Who gave this to you?”

“I did,” Crowley said, choking on sentiment. “Doesn’t matter why, don’t ask.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?” Crowley shook his head. “My dear.”

“Doesn’t matter. I did it. Won’t do it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“S’not worth it, these days. Just more trouble, you see.” Crowley wanted Aziraphale to be closer, so he leaned in, pressing their knees together, just so.

“Well. I was thinking. I was thinking about...about _why._ Why I fell, why you’ve—”

“I emptied myself out, starlight. Gave it all up. What’s left of me is nothing. Just...something I keep alive.”

Aziraphale sighed and pulled away. Crowley _ached_. He didn’t know that, at this moment, Aziraphale was aching, too. And the star really had no idea why.

“I had a thought,” Aziraphale said. “But...perhaps we should just go to bed—”

Crowley grabbed his wrist as he moved to draw away. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll leave and I won’t come back. I swear it.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Can’t have that,” he said, breathless when he needn’t be.

And now they were together again, touching, while Crowley moved his hand to thread his fingers with Aziraphale’s, and the two of them were carefully joined together, as if this might fall apart around them.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You have kept yourself alive so you could find me. And I...I _fell_ so that I could be found by you. Perhaps you and I have lived our respective lives separately, and done and learned all we have so that we might…we might be better prepared to be together. For however long we are allowed.”

Crowley nearly _keened._ He rushed to fill the space between them, and Aziraphale rushed to meet him.

“ _Crowley_ —”

“Stupid, _stupid_ star. Stupid _me,_ ” he muttered.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Don’t say that. You’re so clever, you saved us—”

“You saved _me_ —”

“Enough,” Aziraphale said firmly, and pulled back, holding Crowley’s face in his hands. “I won’t have any of this now. Do you understand?”

Crowley swallowed. He nodded. Gripped Aziraphale’s shirt in his hand. “Bossy,” he muttered, and the two of them laughed together, until Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s neck.

It felt Very Good.

“Is this...is this the love I’ve been sensing?” Aziraphale asked. His hands were trembling, and he was experiencing what he assumed was...a Feeling. Different from the others. Different from the fear he’d known just after falling. Different from the anxiety he’d felt when Crowley had not woken after their escape.

Different from the gentle affection he’d felt while watching Anathema look up at the stars and ask, _Am I doing the right thing?_

“Could be, starlight,” Crowley said.

“And would you be able to tell? Have you felt it before?”

“No,” said Crowley. “Never.”

“So how can we—”

Aziraphale grew silent. It was very difficult to speak when someone was trying to kiss you.

“I think you just know,” Crowley said. “You just let it happen.”

“Yes, but we—”

Crowley sighed and pulled back. Aziraphale longed to go with him.

“You talk too much, starlight,” Crowley said, but there was the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and so Aziraphale chased it.

It was quite worth it, in the end.

* * *

In the night, Anathema leaned over and kissed Newton on the cheek.

He was pretending to sleep. She was pretending not to notice.

They both smiled.

The world got that much brighter.

* * *

In a little room in Tadfield, a star and whatever Crowley had become were reaching out to one another.

Crowley had been Very Alone for a Very Long Time.

He felt less so, now.

Aziraphale put a hand flat on his chest and asked, “Are these all from…”

Scars. Lines here and there. Crowley nodded. They were sensitive to touch, so he shifted. Brought his hands up Aziraphale’s bare back and kissed the column of his throat. They made love in pitch black, save for the light put off by his star.

Aziraphale shone bright.

Crowley teetered on the edge of adoration.

They both tumbled headlong into togetherness.

* * *

“Are changes coming?” Anathema asked, and tossed her runes into the air.

Learning to understand the sort of call and response tactics of rune reading was an Art. Anathema had been doing it since she was very young, and even still, they gave her trouble. The key, she’d learned was to start easy, and get vaguer, but somehow more specific, as the session wore on.

She didn’t have the patience today.

Newt stood in the kitchen and watched her struggle through her reading in the garden. She was worried about the star, she’d said. Newt hadn’t realized Aziraphale _was_ a star until it was pointed out to him that the man was _glowing._ He’d always been a bit slow on the uptake.

“ _Answer_ me,” Anathema snarled, but her runes remained evasive.

In response to her question, “Did I have milk in my tea?” they’d said yes. This was true.

In response to her question, “Will I have milk in my tea tomorrow?” they said no. She assumed this was because Newt would be making it, and he preferred tea without it and always made it his way before remembering too late. But that was alright. He’d remembered she loved sunflowers that morning, and hadn’t just bought her a bouquet of them, but a bag of seeds. They’d spent the early afternoon digging out a patch of earth.

In response to her question, “Is the star alive?” the runes said yes.

In response to her question, “Will he be alright?” they’d started short circuiting, just a bit.

“Are changes coming?” was her final question. She tossed the runes, and then turned away.

“What’s it mean?” Newt asked, point at them. They’d landed in the little bowl she’d made as a girl, but she wasn’t looking yet.

Anathema shrugged.

“Are you afraid of the future?” he asked. She pressed her lips together. Newt reached out and cupped her cheek. “Future’s coming, you know. I mean, I can’t say much about how to feel, one way or the other, but I do know it’s going to be here. And we’ve got to be ready, no matter what.”

“But if it means he’s gone—”

“Can you change that?” She shook her head. Newt kissed her forehead. “You gave him a good few days. You let him know he had people he could trust. That he wasn’t alone. You saved someone he loved.”

“...Loved?”

Newt pulled back. “Yes?” He smiled. “Thought that bit was obvious.”

Anathema felt silly.

She looked at her runes.

“...Don’t know what I was really expecting,” she murmured, and let Newt lead her inside and take her to bed.

* * *

It wasn’t dawn yet, and Crowley was awake. His star was dozing beside him, shining still, but duller with exhaustion. Crowley looked down and felt a wave of endearment wash over him. How would he do this, now? How could he pull this off? He carded fingers through pale curls and considered his next move.

It was going to break more than Aziraphale’s heart, but sometimes things had to get broken, so they could get fixed.

And Crowley _would_ fix it. He’d bleed first. He’d ache before he did, but —

Everything he was about to do could be fixed, so long as he treaded carefully through the next few hours. If it went well, he’d be rid of Hastur and Ligur for good. He and Aziraphale could decide how to move on.

If he failed, one or both of them was dead, Crowley was alone, and he was no better off than he’d been a few days ago.

And right now, he was so much better off. But if they left, they’d be on the run forever. Hastur and Ligur would never stop. Not until they were dead, and Crowley wasn’t sure he had much left in him.

This was probably a mistake, what he was about to do.

But it was better than the Alternative.

And so, in the middle of the night, the creature Crowley was slunk out of the room to make one last deal.

* * *

“Crowley?” The place in bed beside him was empty, and Aziraphale was very much alone. No note, no messages for him, when he went downstairs. There were a handful of loose coins in his pocket from the day before, so he went into the market to get some breakfast.

Crowley wasn’t there.

At the edge of the market, a boy was watching.

* * *

“Stars,” Crowley said, and held out his hand for Hastur to shake. “Lot more trouble than they’re worth.”

Hastur didn’t trust Crowley. But Crowley knew where the star was.

Ligur didn’t trust Crowley. But Ligur was growing tired, and, at the very least, they’d be closer to it than before.

They could kill Crowley, if they wanted. He was starting to look a little pale again.

“Fine,” Hastur said. “But if you screw us over—”

“We’ll screw _you_ ,” Ligur finished.

Crowley made a face. He turned back to the horse he’d ridden out to meet them. She seemed worried.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

But it was too late.

 _There was probably a saying_ , he thought. _About worried horses._

And if not, a pity no one had thought of it.


	5. shine on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the exciting conclusion wherein i avoid action scenes by glossing over them with prose

Aziraphale floundered at the edge of the market. He couldn’t find Crowley _anywhere_ and it was starting to make him very nervous. He didn’t know this town, didn’t know this world, and now he was alone in it once more. _Where_ had he gone? And why would he leave? Had Aziraphale upset him? Had he scared him? Frightened him? They’d had such a lovely night, such a wonderful talk. What did all this _mean?_

As he despaired, a small hand slipped into his own, and then _tugged._

“Excuse me!”

A boy, no older than eleven. He turned and looked at Aziraphale and when their gazes met, Aziraphale could see a great deal of Important Things in this boy’s future. He stood very still. The boy tugged again.

“Come on!” he said. “You have to come with me.”

“Young man, I am not _going_ anywhere—”

“He’s not here and you’re in danger. If we run away, you’ll be safer, and he’ll come find you. Now let’s go!”

Aziraphale didn’t know how this boy knew about Crowley, or that he was _looking_ for Crowley, but he seemed so sure of himself, it unnerved him. Made him follow. “...Who are you?”

“I’m Adam.” The boy had a very large stick that he carried a bit like a weapon. It, too, seemed important. “I’m Adam and I know you’re a star, and we can’t stay here or someone’s going to come and get you. Now come on!”

“How do you—”

“I just _know_ ,” Adam said. He was so incredibly sure of himself that Aziraphale couldn’t help but follow him.

He was alone, and right now, trust was limited. But if he didn’t give this boy a chance, then he couldn’t be sure of where he was going to end up. And there were still people out there hunting for a star.

* * *

“Just wait out here,” Crowley said.

“No, we’ll come in with you.”

Crowley turned, giving Hastur a shove. “That’s _not_ part of the plan. You’ll stay out here, or I’ll gut you in the street. Do you understand?”

“Like you could.”

“ _Don’t_ mess with me,” Crowley said, his voice a snarl. “I’ll be two minutes. You’ll have him within the hour.”

Ligur sneered. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” Crowley snapped. “The feeling is mutual.” He turned sharply and went inside.

In front of the inn, Hastur turned to Ligur and said, “This is a trap.”

“Probably. But we’ve come this far.”

“Think he knows we know it’s a trap?”

Ligure shrugged. “Not sure. He’s weak again, can’t you tell?” Hastur nodded. “Could be clouding his judgment. But he’s clever, you know that. Shouldn’t let our guard down.” He glanced around. “Be just a minute,” he said, spotting the tell-tale sign of a witch’s stall just a ways down from the inn. His runes were at home, but if he could get ones from a proper witch, he’d be able to suss out Crowley’s plans.

Upstairs, Crowley unlocked the door to their room. It was still morning, he’d no reason to believe Aziraphale would be gone, but —

“Oh no.”

Aziraphale was gone.

 _No, no, no, no_ — This was bad. This was extremely bad, this was not something Crowley had planned for. Why? Why not? How could he have been so _stupid?_ What a ridiculous plan, no more clever plans. Not for him. Not ever. Because if Aziraphale was gone, then there would _be_ no more him, there would be no world _at all_ where he made up clever plans.

Oh, stars above, he needed another clever plan now. Tail end of one going to pieces, and he already needed a brand new one.

Meanwhile, outside, Ligur asked a question. Tossed the runes.

“We’re done here,” he said, and he and Hastur walked away.

* * *

The old man had been selling swords out of his bread stall for a very long time. No one really ever bought them. Adam Young and his little gang would often _try_ to buy one, saying their mother or father had the money and they’d be about presently to give it to him. Cheeky things. He liked them.

But the swords didn’t sell. Bread did. Bread sold every day, because bread was important. But the swords, as clean and sharp and polished as he kept them, never sold.

“Excuse me,” someone said.

“Sold my last loaf,” the bread salesman called over his shoulder. “Have to wait for the missus to bring more.”

“I’m not interested in the bread.”

The old man turned. A young man who did not _look_ very young at all, was smiling at him. He didn’t seem very good at it.

“I’d like to buy a sword.”

“Good heavens.”

“The cutlass should do nice.” He pulled out a bag and produced some coin. “If you please,” he added. More than enough coin sat in his palm. The old man nodded wordlessly, took a cutlass and its sheathe from their customary spots behind him, and handed them over. The man smiled. Placed another coin on the table between them. “For your trouble,” he said, and walked away.

* * *

“You didn’t,” Pepper says, absolutely bewildered. “This isn’t a real star.”

“It is!” Adam said hotly. “It’s the real thing.” The angel, sitting on a large stump, seemed bothered. Adam turned to him and said, gentler, “What I _mean_ , sir, is that you are a real fallen star, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I saw you.” Adam leaned in close. “From far away you just looked...like light. Like light and fire.” He frowned. “Where’s your light gone?”

“My…”

“You’re a little dull,” said Brian. Wensley elbowed him in the ribs. “Well it’s true! He just...doesn’t look very shiny. He looks sad.”

“It’s because you’ve lost your demon,” said Adam. “Isn’t it?”

“My _demon._ Oh! Oh, you mean Crowley.” The angel sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid he’s disappeared.”

“What’s your name?” Wensleydale asked. “Do stars have names?”

“Aziraphale.”

Pepper looked...amazed. “That’s...that’s really pretty, actually.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you.” Aziraphale sniffed. He seemed dimmer with every passing moment. Adam was very worried.

He turned to the rest of them. “We need to find his demon.”

“His _demon?_ We can’t go looking for a demon.”

“We have to. They’re better when they’re together. I bet somewhere his demon is having a hard time, too, and if we don’t find them, then they might both die and I think that’d be the worst part of this.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley won’t die,” he murmured. “Well, I don’t think he will anyway. I’d rather he not.” He stood. “But you shouldn’t go looking for him, it’s dangerous. There are other witches out there, and I shouldn’t be with you.” He looked worried now. “I shouldn’t have come here, I’ve put you all in terrible danger—”

“Oh,” said a voice, slick and oily and _terrible._ “You most certainly have.”

Aziraphale immediately stood. He had never really gotten a good _look_ at Hastur and Ligur, but Crowley had told him enough to know who they were. Bony, wretched creatures with black eyes and spots. Came from eating star hearts and then growing old again. That’s what Crowley said. Aziraphale stood in front of the children, shielding them.

Ligur chuckled. “That’s funny, star. Funny you think you could protect them.”

“But we aren’t here to murder any kids,” Hastur said.

“Unless they get in the way.”

Adam shook his stick. “You leave him alone!”

“Adam, that’s quite enough.” Aziraphale pushed him back gently. “Gentleman, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

“Sure we could.” Ligur spat. “But we won’t. Gotta say, it’s a real pity you’ve lost so much of your shine, starlight.”

Aziraphale shuddered. He didn’t _like_ that word coming from anyone but Crowley.

And from his spot in the trees, watching Hastur and Ligur get closer, Crowley heard it, too. He didn’t like it either.

* * *

He cursed himself for leaving Hastur and Ligur, for coming up with such a stupid plan. He’d abandoned Aziraphale, he’d set himself to lose this fight, and on top of that, children he didn’t know were in danger, the only thing standing between them and two dying witches a star. And two dying witches were too much for Aziraphale to take on.

All the decisions Crowley made had brought him to this point of selfishness there was no coming back from.

At least, not alone.

 _This is what love does_ , Crowley thought bitterly. He’d left Hastur and Ligur alone because he couldn’t stand the thought of Aziraphale sitting in their room, thinking he’d left him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Aziraphale being alone, because it meant _Crowley_ was alone. And Crowley needed him. In a few days he’s sussed it out. Solved his problem. He needed Aziraphale, and in one fell swoop, he was going to lose everything.

 _This is what love does_ , he thought again, and put a hand over his heart. It didn’t beat to keep himself alive anymore. It beat for Aziraphale. He didn’t go on living just to prove he could anymore. He’d go on living to make sure _Aziraphale_ went on living.

 _This is what love does_ , he realized. Makes you crazy and makes you brave. Makes you do stupid things, makes you leap without thinking. Makes you buy pears and swords, makes you kiss fallen stars in the dark and leave sharp kisses along the edge of them and you.

 _This is what love does_ , he decided, and stepped out into the clearing.

* * *

“Hastur!” The sound of a sword being drawn echoed through the clearing. “I think it’s time you stood down.”

Hastur turned. “Ah, good! You’ve finally decided to join us. I was just about to murder four children and cut out the heart of your _star._ ”

“Deal’s off,” Ligur said, and drew his dagger.

Aziraphale felt his heart in question _soar._ “Crowley!” Stupidly, he started to shine. Behind him, the children gasped.

“Oh look at that,” Hastur said. “We figured out the trick to turning his light back on.” He turned to Ligur. “Don’t kill him. Apparently we need them both.”

“Crowley, be careful!”

Adam huffed. “What _deal?_ ” he demanded. “What are you talking about?”

Hastur laughed. “The deal for the heart of a star. Figured it was probably a trap. Didn’t quite bet on tripping up the great and powerful Crowley. Guess he’s a little hung up on a certain someone.”

“Leave him alone,” Crowley said. Ligur stepped in front of him, dagger drawn. “Don’t make me kill you.”

“Oh, like you could. I’d love to see you try.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. “I’m warning you just this once. Stand down, or this gets ugly.”

“Why, because you’re so terribly gifted with a sword?”

“No,” Crowley said. “Because you’re _standing_ in my _way._ ”

* * *

The sword fight was distracting. Hastur didn’t _want_ to lose Ligur, but if Crowley killed him, then there was one less person to share the heart with. He’d process his grief later.

With a snarl, he turned to the star and the children, only to find them all scattering.

“Come _back_ here—” Hastur moved to run after them — and then crumpled.

Someday, Adam Young was going to be Very Important. He was going write important books, give important speeches, and do important things.

But for now, he was Just Adam. Just Adam, who played in Hogback Wood and built a secret fort with his friends and had found a Very Important stick. Adam knew, the way people would eventually know about him, that his stick was important. Beaming with pride, he watched Hastur the witch fall to the ground while Pepper pulled Aziraphale away from the fight and to safety.

Behind him, Crowley cried out, clutching his arm with one hand and thrusting his sword out with the other. Ligur fell, gasping for breath, bleeding onto the leaves beneath him. It was gruesome, and Crowley called out for Adam to look away, but the boy didn’t. He couldn’t.

He would remember this moment later, when the wars came. He’d remember it later when he sat at his desk trying to write. He’d remember this later, remember the moment Crowley dropped his sword and Aziraphale ran to him and clutched him in his arms. _You stupid, stupid man. Let me see you, let me see what he’s done_ —

Crowley had called for Adam to look away and he didn’t. He would wake up in a cold sweat for several days remember that moment, remembering the future that could have been, the weight of his stick in his hand as he brought it down over Hastur’s head and knocked him out cold.

Crowley had told him to look away and he didn’t. It wasn’t _the_ thing that eventually made him Important.

But it certainly helped.

* * *

“ _Starlight._ ”

“Crowley. Crowley, what did you do?” Aziraphale held Crowley’s face in his hands, peppered kisses on his cheeks and forehead. “So stupid. Why would you do this?”

“Wanted you to be safe. Shouldn’t have left. Aziraphale, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, can you forgive me—”

“Of course. Of course I can.” They embraced. Kissed again. “Just don’t do that to me _ever_ again. I mean it.”

Crowley laughed. “Wouldn’t _dream_ of it, starlight. Not in a million years.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek while someone tugged at his shirt. Crowley looked and saw one of the children. “...What?”

The girl pointed. “He’s waking up.”

Crowley looked over. “Shit.” He picked his sword up off the ground. Everyone get behind me.”

Aziraphale smiled. “No.”

“ _What?_ ”

On the ground, Hastur _screamed_ and pushed himself to his knees. “ _Crowley!_ ”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was stepping in front of him. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“Look, just...close your eyes. All of you.”

Adam gave a small gasp of understanding and nodded, putting his hands over his face. His friends followed suit.

Crowley looked panicked. “Aziraphale, _please._ ”

Aziraphale smiled. Hastur was starting to stand. “You did so well for me. Let me take over from here.”

“But what are you—”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale cupped his cheek in one hand, forced him to lower the cutlass with the other. “Do you remember what it is that stars do best?”

Crowley stared. Aziraphale leaned in, pressed their lips together, and Crowley closed his eyes.

“ _Shine._ ”

* * *

Brian looked worried. “How do we explain the dead bodies?” he asked.

The demon, crouched over one of them, said, “You don’t.” He snapped his fingers and the bodies disappeared.

Pepper gasped. “ _Wicked._ ”

“Starlight.”

Aziraphale looked up from his place on the stump where he was explaining certain things about stars to Adam, who had hidden his library book there the day before.

“We need to go.”

“Of course. Now, you’ll remember all that, won’t you?” he asked. Adam nodded. “That’s a good boy.” He smiled and stood. “And be sure to return this. Don’t want you getting into any trouble.

“Right.”

Aziraphale turned to the rest of them and smiled. “You’re all _very_ brave, do you know that? You stood up to two very powerful people today, and you should be extremely proud of yourselves. Rescued a fall star on top of it!” He sighed. “I know it’s only been a few hours, but you are all quite dear to me. Please take care of yourselves.”

“We will,” Adam promised.

“Goodbye,” Wensleydale said, and the others echoed him.

* * *

Back on the road, Aziraphale leaned against Crowley and sighed. “I’m very tired.”

“Are you?”

“Oh yes. Very busy day.” Crowley hummed. “Do you know...you look _worlds_ better darling. Or can you feel it?”

Crowley nodded. “I feel it.”

Aziraphale slid their hands together. “I wonder what it is,” he murmured.

“Don’t know,” Crowley said, and for the first time in a very, _very_ long time — he was excited about the future. “But I’m sure we’ll have all the time in the world to figure it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


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